


just a stranger in the stars

by Resamille



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Kiss, Lance is generally oblivious, M/M, Mutual Pining, PINING KEITH, They're awkward, but technically he's pining too, cuddling for warmth, it's awkward, it's fine, texan keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 04:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12028617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: Lance is very observant.Not.He doesn't notice the knowing looks Shiro gives him after a day of training, the exasperated sigh from Pidge after some team bonding exercise, or the way Hunk rebalances conversations with an easy slide towards mentions of Keith. He doesn't notice Allura's smirk when she catches him flirting with a (pretty) distinctly male alien, and he doesn't notice the shift in weight of Coran's hand on his shoulder when he's found staring at the holomap and Keith's name breathes past his lips.He doesn't notice when he falls in love.





	just a stranger in the stars

**Author's Note:**

> this was from some exchange art/writing game thing from the OG gen bb discord sO I DUNNO I'M JUST GOING THROUGH MY WIPS AND FINDING THE ONES THAT I HAVEN'T UPLOADED AHHH
> 
> Title from Thunderstruck by Owl City feat. Sarah Russell
> 
> This was initially for Zeb, and the robes described are based on designs that Zeb made.

Lance is not very observant.

 

Keith knows this.

 

It is both a blessing and a curse, Keith decides. Lance never notices how the rest of the team has not-very-subtly been trying to set them up, once they found out about Keith's crush (dammit, Pidge, you traitor!) He doesn't notice when Keith stares at the slope of his shoulders under robes the color of seafoam, grey and pale blue and patterned. He doesn't notice the way Keith picks at the sleeves of his own, designed with clouds, varying shades of violet, and dotted with gems as stars.

Keith, however, is far more observant. It usually doesn't fit with his abrasive, rash nature, but he's always been hyperaware of Lance. It just took him this long to understand _why_. He notices the blue of his eyes—dazzling, open, fiercely caring. He notices the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck, and Keith vaguely wonders when was the last time Lance asked Allura for a haircut. He notices the flush of Lance's cheekbones as he breathes in the cold air.

“Actual snow,” Lance hums thoughtfully, pulling back the drape of his robe to let the flakes collect upon his palm. The articles of clothing covering their shoulders were specially made for them, gifts in recognition of another alliance with Voltron. The fabric is light and warm, and, though simple in technical design, fits with elegant comfort while still retaining their use. “Or as close as we're gonna get.”

“Yeah,” Keith mutters in response, and tears his gaze away from the curve of Lance's neck to look out on the cold landscape. He mimics Lance, pulling back his cloak to let the snow fall into his fingertips. “I've—uh... Never seen snow before.”

“Really?” Lance asks, sounding nostalgic. “I've only seen it once, not counting today. We took a trip to Colorado, one time. Went up into the mountains.”

“I think I can live without it from now on,” Keith responds, an edge of bitterness in his tone. “It's too cold and wet.”

“Scared of water?” Lance teases. “That why you never shower?”

Keith scowls at him, but his eyes search, chasing the light mischief in Lance's gaze, the way his shoulders still bow slightly under the weight of homesickness, the muscle working in his jaw that tells Keith that he's trying very hard not to cry.

“I just don't like the cold,” Keith finally responds.

“What about the beach?” Lance asks suddenly.

Keith makes a humming noise. “The sand is inconvenient, but I like the ocean. I've... never actually seen it either.”

“God, you've only lived in the most boring places,” Lance bemoans.

“Desert,” Keith points out.

“Ugh.”

“Tell me about it—the ocean,” blurts Keith.

“I've already told you,” Lance mutters. He turns away slightly, gazing back over the white-blanketed landscape. “You've heard me babble before.”

“Yeah,” Keith admits, shrugging. He reaches out to brush his fingertips along the line of froth of a white wave on Lance's robes. “But I like hearing about it, and I know you. Sometimes you just need someone to listen, and I'm here, so.”

“Oh,” Lance breathes as the realization hits him. He faces Keith, eyes widening into silent surprise. “You mean that?”

“Of course,” Keith replies without hesitation. “But—uh—let's go back inside. I'm freezing.”

“Yeah—yeah, okay.”

 

They end up huddled against the cold on the couch, shoulders pressed together in search of warmth. It might be warmer in the castle, but the chill of the planet still seeps through.

It's as Lance speaks, soft mumble just above a whisper, that Keith reads the first signs of Lance beginning to notice. He watches the hue of his eyes change, from icy to sapphire in the glint of the castle lights, and Lance's voice stutters off in a soft gasp. But then he's talking again, continuing where he left off about the seashell collection his family had back home, picking up on the word he'd stumbled on: _violet_.

Keith is facing away, but the next thing he catches—the hitch of Lance's breath and a shuddering “ _soft_ ”—makes his gaze curiously pin to the boy next to him. Their eyes meet, and they stare in silence, Lance with his lips just-barely-parted in an expression Keith knows means he's processing something, in the middle of figuring out some puzzle. Part of Keith is scared of that look, but instead of running or bringing up some petty argument to distract Lance, he lets the feeling simmer. It's gone on so long, this unrequited pining, and Lance was going to figure it out eventually anyway.

Doesn't make it any less terrifying.

“You were talking about your cousin?”

“Right...” Lance says, but he doesn't continue the same conversation. Instead, he ventures, quiet and thoughtful and probably the most timid Keith has ever heard him: “What about you?”

“Me?” Keith blinks at him. He can sense the shift now, too—the way Lance angles his body ever slightly towards Keith, head quirked to the side in curious contemplation. Keith's not sure if he's over the moon or scared shitless, but he can feel his breathing quicken at the slightest of attention from Lance. Because he's a boy with a crush and is absolutely smitten.

 _I like you, I like you, I like you_.

_What would you say in response?_

_“I hate you”?_

But in the moment, even though Keith fears the truth, it doesn't feel like Lance hates him. In fact, it feels as if it's the opposite, as Lance makes a so-so gesture with his hand before shrugging. “Yeah. You. Your family. Where are you from?”

“Oh,” says Keith. “Um. Texas.”

“You stayed in-state to go to the Garrison?”

“Yeah. I've never been outside of Texas actually. At least, well, not until now. I guess space pretty out-of-state.”

Lance chuckles, the sound pushing against Keith's shoulder where they're pressed together still. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore,” he comments with a snort.

“I—just said—Texas,” Keith argues, half-spluttering the response. Lance is dumb. Lance is dumb and he likes him all the same. Help.

“Oh my God, you've ever seen _The Wizard of Oz_ , either? You're so uncultured. Please, Keith. As soon as we get back to earth, we're marathoning literally every pop culture classic that you somehow managed to completely ignore.”

“Is that a promise?” Keith asks, resisting the urge to sock Lance in the arm.

Lance levels him with an odd stare, half-surprised and half... Something else. Darker. A vague curiosity that blooms in his expression. “Yeah,” he murmurs, low. “Yeah, that's a promise.”

Keith feels himself blush suddenly at the intimacy of the moment—the intimacy of Lance's voice—but it's too late to turn away. He sees the exact moment Lance begins to put it all together, realizes exactly what that emotion in Lance's gaze was: understanding. And Lance may have taken a lot of time to decipher the situation, but Keith is far more observant: he sees the slight tinge on Lance's cheeks, feels the flush of his skin under his shirt, sees the tremor in his hand where it hovers, animated storytelling gesture forgotten.

So Keith runs on gut reaction, on the instinctual response one would assume when one's crush was staring with a hazy, strong but almost-indecipherable expression. He surges forward.

Unfortunately, he and Lance make far too good a team, apparently, because Lance had the same idea and instead of the gentle connection of lips they end up knocking their noses against each other.

Lance pulls back with a groan. “Jesus, Keith. Do you kiss someone like you're trying to kill them, too?”

Keith splutters an apology, and then it dawns on him what exactly just occurred. “Holy shit!” he cries, flinging himself half-way across the couch and immediately regretting the lack of Lance's warmth. “You were going to kiss me!”

Lance glares at him. “Well, yeah! It seemed like the thing to do...” But his voice peters off into uncertainty, and his gaze wavers as it lingers on Keith before he turns away. “Sorry. I didn't...”

But Lance doesn't finish what he was going to say, and Keith has to take a moment to process. His skin feels like its on fire, his breathing is erratic, and his heart is slamming against his ribcage because _holy shit Lance tried to kiss him and he tried to kiss Lance and it didn't work but that's what they meant to do and-and-and—_

When Keith's brain is finished short-circuiting, he lunges across the couch again and nearly tumbles into Lance's lap, but catches himself on the blue paladin's shoulder. “Wait—” he gasps out, breathless, and the surprise in Lance's gaze is unmistakeable, but so is the hope. “Can we—can we try that again?”

Lance blinks at him. “A-are you serious?” Pink blooms across his cheekbones.

Keith shuffles forward on his knees. “Yeah, but—uh—I have no idea what I'm doing—so—”

“Oh my God,” Lance breathes, and now they're close enough that Keith feels the puff of air tease his skin. “This is happening. Damn, you're cute when you blush—shit, I said that out loud—”

“Shut up, Lance,” Keith huffs.

Lance opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, like a beached fish, and then grins. “Make me.”

So Keith does.

It's the softest brush of lips, warm and sweet. Lance gasps, like he wasn't expecting Keith to actually go through with it, and Keith breathes in his air.

Keith pulls back, and Lance takes a moment to recover. For a heartbeat, he's a frozen picture of affection: eyes closed, lips parted, cheeks dusted red. With a tiny sigh of contentedness, his eyelids flutter open and Keith is pinned with a gaze filled with such raw, stunned adoration that his breath catches in his throat.

Suddenly a breeze whooshes through the room and Keith hisses at the cold, broken from his reverie of staring back into Lance's eyes. Lance curses and lunges for their discarded robes from earlier, flinging them over their bodies in makeshift blankets.

Keith clutches at the fabric, wrapping it as close around him as possible as Coran saunters into the room, still draped in his own decorative clothing. “Sorry, boys. I might have accidentally rewired the central heating system. Just give it a few ticks to recalibrate.”

“I thought we came inside to get out of the snow,” Lance huffs, breath fogging out in the freezing air.

“Just sit tight—I'm on it,” Coran assures, and begins muttering to himself as he leaves.

Keith and Lance share a look that conveys they both know Coran is exactly _not_ on it.

They break into laughter, soft giggles from Lance, and Keith's breathy chuckles, interrupted by shivers. Lance catches him clawing at his robe, and reaches a hand out to brush along Keith's fingers, stilling him. “Here,” he says, and pries the cloak from Keith's form, much to Keith's distress.

But then he uses one arm to tug Keith into his side while the other drapes both robes over them, now double layers of warmth. Keith melts against Lance's form, curling towards the heat of his body instinctively. “You don't like the cold right?”

Keith shakes his head. “This just for warmth?”

Lance goes silent for a moment, and then Keith feels his fingers brush his under their makeshift blankets of starlight and ocean waves. “No,” Lance says, hooking their pinkies together. “No. More than just for warmth.”

Keith grunts a huff of impatience, and grabs Lance's hand, threading their fingers together. Lance squeaks in surprise at first, but then gives Keith's hand a gentle squeeze.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Lance blurts: “Only if you teach me how to ride a horse.”

“What,” Keith deadpans.

“I promise I'll marathon movies with you if you teach me how to ride.”

Keith grabs the robes and rolls away from Lance, turning himself into a warm blanket burrito while Lance yelps at the sudden cold. From somewhere in his cocoon, Keith growls, “Texas is not one hugeass ranch you piece of shit.”

“But can you? Ride horses?” Lance asks, prodding at the robe bundle. “Keith. _Keeeeith_. Lemme back in. It's _cooold_. Don't let me freeze out here. Keeeeith.”

“Go away,” Keith grunts, but then Lance jumps up on the couch and shoves at Keith with his feet and Keith's arms are trapped in the robes so he goes tumbling off, sprawling out across the cold floor. Lance lunges for the robes, but Keith is still half-tangled in them, and somehow they end up tussling for both rather than just going back to cuddling.

Somewhere during their wrestling, the heating system kicks back in and it's all futile anyway, but they're both too invested in each other to notice.

 

Because Lance isn't very observant. He doesn't notice things.

And Keith only ever notices Lance: the way he dreams of constellations from a galaxy they left long ago, the way he ties worlds together with the compassion of his voice alone, the way he falls in love without realizing. It slams into him in one fell swoop, leaving him breathless and laughing, and flat on his back while it pins him to the ground and announces: “I win.”

 


End file.
